


Impulse Control

by justanothersong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bit of a twist, Chemical Weapons, Chemicals, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Humor, Language!, Loss of Control, Out of Character, Reader-Insert, Smut, Sparring, under the influence, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Exactly!” Simmons replied over the speakers. “Very well put, Dr. Banner. Had I to hazard a guess, I would say this chemical almost certainly was made to inhibit appropriate impulse control, to lay all inhibitions bare, so to speak.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You weren’t feeling particularly strange that afternoon, so you had thought all of this quarantine nonsense was a little much; you mentioned that repeatedly, growing a little agitated at not being allowed to leave the compound. Funny thing was, you hadn’t really had plans to go anywhere. Just the thought that you couldn’t was getting on your nerves. 

You had only been with the Avengers for around eight months, and this was a first for you: exposure to an unknown chemical solution requiring medical monitoring and quarantine until a specimen could be analyzed to gauge whether or not it was harmful. Bruce seemed pretty surprised it hadn’t happened to you before.

“This is kind of thing par for the course around here,” he explained with a sheepish half-smile. “Hydra and its off-shoots are big into chemical weapons and experimentation. Seems each time we make any headway into shutting down one of their operations, we find some nasty new science brewing.”

You snorted, crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back on the couch. “The experimentation part I was kind of aware of,” you told him dryly, and even Bruce had to chuckle.

It was easy to forget sometimes that you and several of your teammates were little more than science experiments gone rogue. Super-soldier enhancements, biotechnology, and lab accidents accounted for most the the grand abilities that the team carried; you were just one among the fold.

After a routine elementary school standardized test had shown you to exhibit some early signs of high intelligence, your parents had enrolled you in what they were told was a specialized academy for young girls showing great promise. They had no idea that it was run by a presumed-dead Hydra genetic specialist who had gotten her hands on some intel to make her very own squadron of Black Widows; fortunately (or perhaps not), the scientist was far from the best in her field and most of the girls died. You were among the handful that survived and the only one who remained unscathed.

Your family was gone by the time you made your escape, murdered during poorly run interrogations by those who wanted to find the scientist’s lair. You had nothing and no one, so you sought out the only person you thought might understand: Natasha Romanov. She did more than that; she convinced SHIELD to take you on once you had been thoroughly vetted and your abilities tested. You weren’t quite at her level, but she seemed confident that you could learn.

That was how you ended up pouting on an overpriced leather couch, waiting for an all-clear to be given so that you could go out for a cheeseburger. Or something.

 

“Heads up, people,” Tony announced loudly, walking back into the room after a trip to the kitchen area. He popped a pretzel into his mouth and palmed a small, thin remote from the tabletop. He clicked a button and you heard speakers come to life.

“So you guys think you got a bead on this stuff?” Tony asked loudly. 

“It seems to be a biochemical agent containing an altered form of human serotonin,” a pleasantly chipper English-accented voice supplied over the speakers, and you had to smile. It was impossible not to grow fond of Jenna Simmons, one of the brightest minds you had ever encountered. Knowing that she was working on the issue seemed to help your anxiety dissipate just a little.

“What does that mean, Simmons?” Clint piped up. He was seated on a smaller sofa opposite where you sat, Natasha lounging beside him.

“Oh! Hello, Agent Barton,” Simmons called cheerfully. “Basically, it’s a neurochemical responsible for much of the pleasurable feelings we experience.”

“Huh,” Clint said, leaning back in his seat. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Unfortunately,” Simmons went on, “There is also a large amount of a dopamine-like substance and something with a benzene ring that seems quite similar to a psychoactive drug cocktail. From what we can tell, the overwhelming purpose is to affect the prefrontal cortex.”

Bruce groaned from where he stood by the windows. “That means it’s related to executive function,” he said. You just stared wide-eyed until he added, “Attention span, planning functions… social control.”

“Exactly!” Simmons replied over the speakers. “Very well put, Dr. Banner. Had I to hazard a guess, I would say this chemical almost certainly was made to inhibit appropriate impulse control, to lay all inhibitions bare, so to speak.”

“That could be a big problem,” Tony put in, eying his occasionally Hulkish friend warily.

Bruce groaned again. “Tell me about it,” he agreed.

“Oh, not to worry, Dr. Banner!” Simmons broke in again. “There was one other chemical trace we came across -- a very fragmented version of the protein that would be found in the serum that… well… shall we say, made Captain Rogers the man he is today? It binds the entire chemical structure so that it won’t be released into a normal human bloodstream.”

“Normal?” Bucky echoed; he sat on the arm of the couch next to you, frowning at the scientist’s use of the word.

“Oh! Not ‘normal’, really, just…” Simmons replied quickly, searching for the appropriate words. “Erm… not… enhanced?”

“Wait,” Bruce piped up, frown growing. “Anyone with a trace of the serum could be at risk? Because we have a few people here…”

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Simmons agreed. “I am sorry to report that at least four of your team members would be vulnerable and based on what I’ve been told, they were all exposed. The Director thinks it best if, for the time being, everyone who was in on this operation remain at the compound under quarantine.”

“Even those of us not at risk?” Tony asked, clearly perturbed at the idea.

“Well, yes,” Simmons relented, tone sounding a bit uncomfortable suddenly. “If the prefrontal cortex is compromised, at best there would be some small erratic behavior but at worse it could be a total loss of control, people acting on their basest desires and… and… well you can imagine how problematic that would be if there weren’t others around to… rein them in?”

Bruce sighed heavily. “How long?” he asked.

“Only a few days,” Simmons told him quickly. “The chemical seems to break down under stress, so it shouldn’t last more than a week. Of course, we don’t know what the method of administration was meant to be and since it was only skin contact, it may not even have taken root and we’re worrying over nothing. Things sound fairly normal there, yes?”

“Everyone seems fine,” Clint responded, glancing from face to face in the room. “So I guess we’ll just have to…”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve groaned, tossing his head back against the back of the couch with a huff. “I mean, what the fuck? Why is it always this bizarre bullshit we gotta deal with? Can never just be some jackass with a gun or something, no, it’s gotta be alien-fuckin’-robots or god damn brain altering chemicals!” The room went suddenly quiet and Steve glance around, noticing that everyone was staring at him. “What?” he asked.

Simmons’ voice came in a not-so-hushed whisper. “Oh my god, did you hear that? Did you hear him? That was Captain Rogers, oh my god, that was so…” Suddenly she cleared her throat, voice going a little too chipper. “Right then, sounds like you all have it in hand. Call us if there are any complications!”

The line cut off and Tony let out a low whistle. “This is gonna be interesting,” he muttered.

 

You didn’t feel any different, and no one seemed to have changed in behavior much at all, save for Steve’s little outburst. You had almost convinced yourself that you’d be immune to the chemical’s effects, before you recalled that Steve had been first in the door and taken the most direct hit. You had nearly come away unscathed, if not for the bullet that had pierced a plastic barrel behind you, spilling a load of the clear pinkish liquid all over you. The others were similarly sodden when the fray had quieted and you had all regrouped.

 

Still, looking around the room, everything seemed pretty normal. No one had moved save Tony and Bruce, who seemed to have shrunken back to the outskirts of the room, watching the rest of you with an annoying curious gaze. Natasha and Clint sat on one couch, with you and Steve on opposite ends of the other, and Bucky had taken a chair alongside one of the large plate glass windows in the lounge.

Then you noticed the way that Natasha was leaning into Clint, the way she kept reaching out and touching him. She was smiling at him, a full grin, the expression something you hadn’t spied before, completely open and almost… loving. 

You knew she would regret that being on display for everyone to see when the chemical effects -- because she was clearly affected - wore off. 

Jumping out of your seat fast enough to startle Steve, you reached out and grabbed Natasha by the arm.

“Come spar with me?” you suggested, ignoring the frown that came to her face.

“Busy,” she responded tersely, sending you a glare cold enough to put Cap back under ice.

Clint took her momentary distraction as an opening to inch away from Natasha; he knew well enough that Natasha would be on the warpath when she came back to her senses and he would suffer for allowing her to take such public liberties with him.

“Hey, no, that sounds like a good idea!” Clint said quickly, straightening up in his seat when Natasha’s frown turned on him. “They said it burns off pretty quick, right? This chemical thing? Maybe you guys work out a little, it’ll speed things up and get you back to normal.”

Natasha’s frown grew. “I am normal,” she replied.

You gave a heavy, put-upon sigh. “Look, if you don’t think you can take me, you can just say it,” you told her, knowing that there would be no way for her to resist such a taunt.

Natasha turned back to you, eyes narrowing. “Let’s go spar,” she agreed.

 

It wasn’t as though you hadn’t sparred with Natasha before. Hell, you’d been training with the team for so long that you’d had hand-to-hand sessions with just about everyone. But it was always about strategy, about practice, and seeing what the other could do. You’d trained hard with Natasha; she understood you better than the others, could teach you, bring you up to her level. But you’d always held back. Everyone did. It was never serious, no one ever got hurt beyond a few cuts and bruises. 

You could feel something in the air this time, as you stripped down to a sports bra and a pair of shorts in the locker room. Natasha was angry, annoyed at being disturbed, annoyed with your taunting. You were fairly certain she had it in mind to teach you a lesson.

But it was fine. You could hold your own. She’d taught you well.

“Sure you want to do this?” Natasha asked, voice cutting a little sharper than usual. She was teasing you, goading you on.

You fixed your brightest smile on your face. “Absolutely,” you responded, and before the word had completely left your lips, she was moving.

Natasha was faster than you, but you were spry; she might come on quicker but you could duck with more dexterity. She threw left and you dove right. You threw right and she ducked left. She kicked out and you jumped; you tried to pull her into a hold and she just escaped your grasp. Frustrated and angry at every near-miss, you threw a punch harder than intended and just barely clipped her lower lip. 

Natasha took a step towards the edge of the mat, running a thumb across her lip and finding it bloody when she pulled it away. She glanced to you and you gave a cocky half-smile and roll of your shoulders; when she stared for a moment and then nodded, it became clear that neither of you would be pulling any punches.

 

It took about twenty-five minutes for Clint Barton to realize that sending his control-compromised super-spy girlfriend into a gym to spar with another woman of similar strength, directly after having had her amorous intentions towards him foiled, was probably not the best idea. It took another five minutes for him and Tony to convince Steve to accompany them; they knew that if things had gotten too out of hand, they would need the extra muscle, and Bruce had gotten Bucky engaged in a game of chess that seemed to be keeping him calm enough to warrant leaving them to it.

Steve had wanted to drink a beer and watch a baseball game he found on television; it had taken some convincing to get him moving and even then, he’d been quite loudly complaining about it.

He was still complaining as they walked in the door. “...see why the fuck I should have to…” he grumbled.

You were flat on your back on the mats, Natasha’s slender fingers wrapped around your throat, pausing in her throttling to occasionally bash your head against the floor. You weren’t giving up the fight, your legs locked around her and squeezing, hands pulling and tearing at her hair. 

“Nat, no!” Clint blurted, running in to pull her off; she let out an angry growl when he slipped both arms around her waist, yanking her back and out of your grasp. She wasn’t ready to give up her grip, her nails dragging across your skin enough draw blood.

You took a greedy gulp of air and immediately launched yourself back up on your feet, ready to lunge at Natasha even as Clint struggled to hold her back. Before you could even make a move, two strong arms enveloped your waist and held on tight.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Steve grumbled in your ear.

“Fucking let me go, Rogers!” you spat back angrily. “We’re not finished here!”

“Yeah, let the little girl go, so I can finish what I started!” Natasha replied with a low laugh, nearly pulling out of Clint’s grasp.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh please, like I couldn’t take you!” 

“You were thirty seconds from a choke-out, bitch,” Natasha told you, relaxing back into Clint’s hold. 

“And I was about fifteen seconds from crushing your ribs,” you responded with a snort. She made a renewed lunge at you and Clint tightened his grip, glancing wildly back and forth between Steve, who held you back, and Tony, who was standing between both of you, seemingly waiting for someone to break free and make a run for it.

“Can you get her out of here?” Clint asked, struggling in his hold and nodding towards you.

“What the shit do you expect me to do with her?” Steve asked, still frowning. You grunted and tried to pull out of his grasp, but his arms only tightened around you; for all your training and the biomedical engineering you’d undergone, he was still bulkier and ultimately stronger than you.

“Don’t care, just get her out!” Clint grunted, and tried to hold Natasha a little tighter.

Steve gave an annoyed grunt and you found yourself suddenly being lifted and tossed over his shoulder, kicking your legs in aggravation.

“God damn it Steve, put me down!” you shouted, and yelped when you received a slap to your ass in response.

“Not gonna happen, doll,” he told you, and you could only gape in response as he carried you off towards the door.

Natasha laughed at the display. She seemed to be remembering what she had been up to before, turning to nuzzle against Clint’s throat. 

He swallowed hard. “Uh, Nat? Whatcha… whatcha doin’ there?”

“If you’re not going to let us fight,” she reasoned, scraping her teeth against his jaw, “Then you and I could have a little fun.”


	2. Chapter 2

You bitched at Steve for the entire walk to his room, kicking your feet and trying to get yourself free from his grasp. He was completely nonplussed; he may as well have been carrying a piece of luggage or gear from the quinjet after a mission. It was only after he dropped you to your feet on the carpeted floor of his suite and advised FRIDAY to keep the door locked until he requested otherwise that he so much as spoke to you again.

Ducking into his fridge, he held up two amber-colored bottles and inquired, “Want a beer?”

You glared. “Seriously?” you asked.

He shrugged and popped the cap on his own. “Suit yourself,” he said. Settling himself onto his couch, Steve turning on his television and seemed content to go about his day as if he hadn’t just carried you off caveman-style. The baseball game he had been watching had experienced a rain delay and he frowned at the screen.

“Why did you bring me here, Rogers?” you demanded, annoyed.

He shifted his frown towards you. “Where the hell else was I going to take you? Fuckin’ you and Natasha beating on each other, what the hell is the matter with you?”

“We were sparring,” you responded, crossing your arms over your chest; you were still sweaty from the endeavor and with some of the adrenaline from the fight fading, you were feeling the soreness as bruises bloomed on your skin.

“You were tryin’ to kill each other,” Steve told you, and for a moment you saw a glimmer of the Captain you knew in the field, all business and authority. It was gone as soon as he took another long pull on his beer bottle, chasing a stray bead of the liquid that fell from his lips with his tongue. 

You suddenly felt a little too warm, in spite of your sparse clothing.

“Tell FRIDAY to let me out,” you told him, gesturing towards the door. “Then I’ll be out of your hair.” You knew the AI would only respond to Steve, since it was his suite.

Steve rolled his eyes, something you realized you had never seen him do before. He must be really far gone on this chemical, whatever it was, you thought; he was dropping F-bombs left and right and his speech had become informal, mannerisms annoyed and surly. And he had slapped you on the ass, for god’s sake.

Natasha’s venomous response to your sparring request must be part and parcel of the same issue, you thought.

At least you had remained unaffected.

“Why, so you can go track Nat down again?” Steve asked you, shaking his head. “Then they just call me to come pull you off again? I don’t think so. Sit down and relax, sweetheart. We’re here for a while.”

You groaned. “Fine!” you relented, annoyed. “Then at least let me use your shower. You dragged me out off the gym before I even had a chance to get my god damn clothes.”

You didn’t expect him to glance back at you, an arch in his brow and unrestrained interest in his eyes. You could swear that you could feel his gaze on your skin, as he dragged his eyes down your form and back up again, lingering on your mostly bare legs and the soaked cotton of your sports bra.

Unabashed, you put your hands on your hips. “Well?” you asked.

Steve blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. “Yeah, sure, sorry,” he mumbled, voice and mannerism a little closer to the Steve you knew and lov-... that you knew. He stood quickly and motioned for you to follow him through the door to his bedroom and the bathroom beyond.

 

He was all business, pulling clothes out of his dresser drawers for you and towels out of a cupboard, standing just outside the bathroom door and holding them out in offering. You took them with a smile, probably the friendliest gesture you’d made since he’d spirited you away from the gym and your out-of-control sparring match with Natasha.

“Thank you,” you told him, making an effort to sound sweet. You couldn’t blame him for being irritated, not when the chemical was affecting him so much; besides, the quarantine was allowing all of you a rare day off and chemical exposure or not, he deserved a little time to enjoy the quiet. 

Without breaking up super-powered catfights. 

“Not a problem, doll,” Steve replied, sounding smooth and unaffected. Still, there was something to his expression that intrigued you, the way his eyes kept flicking to your lips and making sweeps of your body when he thought you couldn’t see.

You both stood there for a long moment, just watching each other, before you cleared your throat and nodded towards the shower.

“I’ll just…” you said, trailing off.

Steve nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, and cleared his throat. He turned to leave then paused, turning on his heel. “You might wanna… I mean, the shower head, I have the pressure turned up pretty high, it might be… yeah, you just, you know, spin the little dial thing…”

You smiled at him. “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it. Really,” you said, before closing the door.

He hadn’t been kidding about the water pressure; the shower head beat down on your back with a pounding force that you thought could rival Niagara Falls. You couldn’t help the low groan is tore from your lips, the constant thrum of hot water against your skin beating out all of the aches from your ill-conceived tussle with Natasha. You pressed your hands against the white tile wall of the shower and sighed deeply, letting the torrents wash away the sweat and soreness.

You availed yourself of Steve’s shampoo and a simple bar of soap that smelled clean and fresh, cleaning away the last of the grime before just standing beneath the showerhead and enjoying the spray. When you finally stepped out, your skin was pink from the heat of the water and you felt relaxed and almost cheerful. The towels Steve had provided were pale blue and fluffy, the softness of the cloth feeling wonderful against your overheated skin.

He’d left you a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to borrow and you had to smile. Even with his mind compromised by some hellish drug cocktail, Steve Rogers was still a gentleman. The t-shirt was plain grey and while it must have been a tight fit on him, you were swimming in the fabric; the hem fell against your mid-thigh and the collar hung loose, wide and low, so much so that your shoulder peeked out against the fabric. Still warm from the water and feeling sufficiently covered, you decided against the sweatpants and padded out towards the living room.

“Remind me to invite you over and get my shower setting up to your standards,” you called with a laugh. “I don’t know if I can go back to a leaky faucet after getting a massage beneath a waterfall.”

Steve turned towards you but didn’t reply; you took his quiet as a return to his surliness from before and you sighed, deciding at the least that you’d help yourself to the beer he had offered just after you arrived. You didn’t notice his eyes tracking you as you stepped into the kitchen and bent to retrieve the bottle, or rounded the kitchen island as you more or less sauntered into the living room, folding your legs under you as you sat on the couch beside him.

“Thanks for the beer,” you told him with a wink, tilting the bottle at him with a half-hearted toast before downing a quarter of it in one go.

“Jesus, sugar, what are you tryin’ to do to me?” Steve groaned out suddenly, and you blinked.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s your problem, Rogers?”

“Walkin’ around, half-dressed, in my own damn shirt,” Steve growled, pulling the bottle out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table next to his own empty one. He move towards you and you backed away by instinct, pressing yourself against the arm of the couch when he planted a hand on other side of your hips. “Tryin’ to get a reaction, baby girl? Tryin’ to drive me crazy, aren’t you?”

Something crackled in the air between you and you bit your lip. “Maybe,” you told him, only vaguely aware that your breathing had quickened and the hem of the t-shirt you wore had drawn up to a less than innocent level.

Steve swallowed hard. “FRIDAY,” he said, voice low and deep, eyes darkened and locked on yours. “Unlock the doors please.” When the AI answered with an affirmative response, he licked his lips and said, “You need to leave, right now. I’m about ten seconds away from doing something we’re both gonna regret and if you stay here much longer, I don’t think I can stop myself.”

Chest heaving with excitement, you reached up and ran the tips of your fingers along his jaw, smiling as his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the touch with a groan. You moved closer, feeling his breath against your lips, and whispered, “What on earth makes you think I’d regret it?”

The next few seconds seemed to pass too quickly for you to fully register what was happening; one moment you had been crowded against the couch, breathing hard and waiting for Steve to make some sort of move and the next he had growled, nearly lunging at you, pulling you into his lap like little more than a rag doll. He picked you up so easily, moved your body as though you were light as air and you could feel a danger there, a sense that he could do whatever he wanted and you’d never be able to stop him; it made your heart pound in your chest with excitement, your blood pumping faster and hotter than you’d ever felt before in your life.

“Been driving me crazy, from the moment you showed up here,” Steve breathed hot against your throat, nipping and biting at the tender skin, the sensation enough to cause your eyes to flutter shut, whimpering moans spilling from your lips.

“Lookin’ like a lost little thing out in the rain, beggin’ Natasha for help,” he mumbled, nips turning into wet sucking kisses along your collarbone. “All the while I’m goin’ out of my god damn mind, tryin’ to do the right thing but wanting nothin’ else but to bring you to my bed, see how many times I could make you scream my name.”

You heard the tearing of fabric and the simple t-shirt was suddenly gone, scraps tossed away, your body fully bared to him. He wasted no time, ducking his head to mouth at your breast. You gasped, pulling your fingers through his hair and feeling the way it made him shudder.

“God, Steve!” you gasped, a particularly hard pull against one dusky nipple sending a torrent of sensation blazing up and down your spine, only to settle at your heated center.

He groaned your name in response. “Just like that,” he muttered, kissing his way back up your chest. “Just like that. Wanna hear it.”

He captured your lips for the first time then, diving quickly into a deep, ravaging kiss that left you breathless, pulling at his hair and wanting it never to end. You finally had a chance to reciprocate all that he had been doing and you didn’t hesitate, sucking at his lower lip before you pulled away, scraping your teeth along his throat and reveling in the vibration of his groans against your lips.

“You think I didn’t want that, Stevie?” you whispered coyly. “You think I wasn’t out of my mind, watching you every damn day and wishing you’d hold me down, do all those naughty things you were thinking about?”

Steve said your name again, voice low in warning, as though you hadn’t already made it more than clear that you wanted it as much as he did, bare as the day you were born and tucked against his chest. It was amazing to see him like this, completely unraveled, and all for you.

You pulled at the waistband of his sweatpants, giving him a clear picture of what you wanted and he was quick to oblige, lifting his hips so you could drag the soft fabric down his strong things. You nearly groaned at the sight of him, hard and hot and ready for you, and you licked your lips unconsciously. There would be time for that later; now, though, you just needed to feel him.

Your stare didn’t escape his notice, and Steve gave you the most lascivious grin you’d ever seen grace those perfect features.

“Seein’ something you like, babydoll?” he drawled. “Wanna go for a ride?”

“You’re terrible,” you told him, even as you fisted both of your hands in his hair, twisting and pulling the short silky strands between your fingers and dragging his lips to yours. You were more than ready for him and raised yourself up, still kissing him deeply as you sunk down on his thick cock. Steve groaned your name into your mouth, strong hands coming up to grip at your waist.

“God damn baby, you feel like heaven,” you gasped out, leaning back against the couch to watch you as you started moving, pushing yourself up his cock only to slide home again, rolling your hips and letting soft little whimpers and moans tumble from your lips.

“Fuck, yes,” Steve grunted, gripping you a little tighter as you moved. “God, you feel amazing… you look fucking amazing, knew it would be this good, watchin’ those pretty titties bounce…”

Vulgar, yes, even a little crude, but god did it sound amazing coming from Steve’s plush pink lips. You loved to hear him talk, to watch him bite his lower lip when you’d move a little faster, contracting your muscles a little tighter on the glide. You were sweating, your thighs burning with the exertion, but you didn’t care, didn’t want to stop.

“C’mon honey,” Steve muttered. “Close now… bring it on home.” He pulled one hand from his tight grip at your waist to slide against your center, two fingers slipping inside to tweak your clit and that was it, you were gone, shuddering hard through your climax and collapsing against him. Steve was still moving, rocking his hips up from the couch, once, twice, and then grunting through his own orgasm, whispering praises against your throat as he came.

You were still catching your breath, a little lost in the haze, when Steve stood, picking you up easily even as he kicked his pants down his legs, abandoning them on the floor.

“Where are we going?” you asked, a little breathlessly.

“Oh I’m not anywhere near finished with you, baby girl,” Steve told you, voice almost soft and affectionate. “I’m taking you to bed.”

 

It turned out that Clint had been right; the more physical exertion, the quicker the chemical was burned out of the system. A few hours in bed had been more than enough to wash it out of Steve’s system… and out of yours.

When you woke to early morning light, naked as the day you were born with a human furnace of a man curled up beside you in what was clearly not your bed, you had to gulp down several deep breaths to keep from panicking.

How on earth had you thought that you hadn’t been affected?

You were close with Natasha, and the other members of the team were always very kind to you, but the truth of the matter was that you were still intimidated by them. You didn’t speak much at all, communicating where necessary but keeping to yourself if you weren’t working.

The fact that you’d been harboring an intense attraction to the Captain had escaped almost everyone’s attention, save Nat; there was nothing she didn’t see, and she had been prodding you for months to talk to him, certain you would hit it off.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, hands over your face, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“You’re… really here…” Steve muttered, startling you enough that you yelped and inched out of his arms. He looked bewildered, sitting up with pink cheeks and messy hair, ridiculously adorable in spite of the situation. Realizing his movement had shifted the sheets down to his knees, his color deepened and he yanked them back to his waist.

Your head against the pillows, you groaned. “A little late for that Steve… er… Captain.”

“I think at this point we can forgo the formalities,” Steve said, a hint of amusement in his voice that reached his eyes and made them sparkle.

You nodded, pulling the sheet tighter around your body, feeling ridiculously exposed. It wasn’t even the bare skin or the sex -- and there had been a lot of sex -- that made it so difficult. It was the way you had acted, the things you had said.

You had laid everything bare. It was mortifying.

Steve seemed to sense you starting to close off. “Hey, no, please don’t do that,” he said, voice soft and gentle. It wasn’t an unfamiliar tone; it had surfaced repeatedly during the night, loving words whispered into your skin at the heights of your passion, gentle hands touching you and holding you close even in the aftermath.

He said your name plaintively, almost desperately. “Please don’t shut down on me,” he said quietly. “Been tryin’ to get you to give me the time of day since we met, don’t think I could stand it if you went all quiet on me again.”

“I don’t know what to do now,” you said, shaking your head with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I just… after all that… where do we go from here?”

Steve gave you one of his best smiles. “How about I make you some breakfast? We can work out the rest of the details later.”

 

All eyes were on the two of you when you surfaced in the living area later that day, hand in hand, but no one said a word after Steve sent a warning glance. Clint and Natasha were seated on a loveseat together, sitting a reasonable distance apart; Clint was sporting a hell of a shiner and what looked to be a split lip, but seemed cheerful enough.

“Looks like somebody had a good time last night,” Tony drawled; of course, if anyone would say a word, it would be him. You flushed and Steve glared, slipping an arm around your shoulders. 

“Sorry about trying to kill you,” Natasha offered cheerfully.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Ditto,” you agreed, and she smiled.

“Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had around here in ages,” she replied with a snort.

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Clint said, earning a brief punch to his shoulder.

“I take it you’re all back to normal?” Tony asked, waggling eyebrows at all of you as he spoke.

“I feel fine,” Natasha told him with a shrug. “And since these two have their clothes back on, I’d assume they’re on the mend as well.”

You groaned and hid your face against Steve’s chest, shivering when he ran a soothing hand through your hair. You didn’t know how they knew -- and didn’t want to know -- but the idea that your evening’s activities had become common knowledge was embarrassing as hell.

Steve frowned. “Let’s just not talk about it,” he said, in the authoritative tone he used often in the field. “Just leave me and my girl alone.”

Tony sat down on the arm of the loveseat and elbowed Natasha with a grin. “You hear that?” he said. “‘His girl’. You guys get drugged and all you get is a beatdown. Cap and your mini-me get laid.”

“Tony, shut your mouth,” Steve all but growled, and you felt a familiar spike of arousal. His girl. You kind of liked that.

“What about Barnes?” Clint asked, deftly changing the subject. You’d have to thank him for that later. 

Steve suddenly stiffened. “Bucky? What happened with him last night?”

“No worries, Capsicle,” Tony told him, shaking his head. “Your old pal spent half the day at the chessboard with Bruce, and when they got bored of that, they took over the television and spent the rest of the night streaming episodes of _Cosmos_. Probably sleeping it off now.”

Steve blinked. “Huh,” he said. Apparently his old friend could still surprise him.

“Look, if you’ve all got your heads screwed back on straight, I’m hitting up the labs,” Tony said, addressing the entire group as he spoke. “Babysitting you suped-up freaks is exhausting, I need some nice relaxing applied physics.”

Natasha stood, rolling her eyes. “We were just leaving anyway,” she announced, speaking for herself and Clint. He stood quickly to follow her, seemingly glad for the impending privacy. You’d have to ask how he got that black eye; though as you thought about it, you weren’t sure you wanted the answer.

Suddenly alone with Steve again, you had a brief moment of panic before you felt those soothing fingers running through your hair again. He was smiling at you, soft and kind, in a way that sent a flutter to your heart.

“So I guess I should have asked you,” he said, almost shyly. “D’you wanna be my girl?”

Feeling at ease and wondering if a little chemical exposure wasn’t the best thing that ever happened to you, you smiled and decided to answer without words, kissing him gently and then snuggling under his arm.

Steve huffed a small laugh. “Back to the silent treatment?” he asked, and pinched your thigh. You jumped and yelped, finding yourself suddenly hauled into his lap. He was grinning at you but the sparkle in his eyes was all Steve, no chemical persuasion necessary, it would seem.

Maybe a little loss of control now and again wasn’t such a bad thing after all.


End file.
